Over Wenlock Edge

OVER WENLOCK EDGE

The wind whispers along Wenlock Edge
Then growing in force
Whips through tall trees
In a giant green wave.

The old escarpment curls and breaks
Tumbling its woods down below
Into a green sea flecked
With sunlight
Instead of foam.

How fortunate that Nature chooses
To wear green;
So soft on the eye,
So full of infinite shade:
The new green of spring
Ripening too soon to lush summer,
Mint and sage, lime fern and emerald moss.
The leaves of blackthorn, bramble,
Alder, rowan and slender new ash.
Leaves weave their wattled archway
Over my walker’s path.

The forest parts at Major’s Leap
Where Mary Webb’s heroine
Was hounded to her death
Still clutching the fox in her arms.

A patchwork of fields
Now “Gone to earth”
Stretches far over the plain
To Haddon Hill on Long Mynd.

But at this time of year
Green fields become corn,
Green leaves take on a touch of autumn
Turning brown and crinkly …

Then soon fall.

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